


A Prince Lost in the Dark

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Fëanor has just lost his mother, so he sets out to find her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prince Lost in the Dark

Fëanáro had made up his mind. He hated the palace, he hated to see his father’s sorrowful face, the covered tapestries, the hush that gathered whenever the little prince walked by. He hated it all. He was going to find her, whether he had to go to the ends of Arda and back. He was going to bring his mother home.

He packed a little food, barely noticing what he was doing, stuffing some waybread and apples from the cellars into a little pack. The map he left behind, for it did not even reach all the way to Lórien. _So it couldn’t really be a very good map._  When he was supposed to be asleep that night he slipped out of his window and shimmied down the palace wall. Telperion was not yet bright.  _It doesn’t matter_ , he thought.  _Amil put her fire in me, everyone says. I’ll be my own light. I must._

He made it out of the city gates at the bottom of the hill, he would recall later. He traveled on the dark side of the hill of Túna, away from the Treelight, pulling his hood up over his face.

The well loomed up suddenly beneath him, a great black hole in the ground; Fëanáro tried to fling his weight backwards, but it was too late, he was already tumbling into it. He bit back a scream as he pitched forward into the darkness, the icy-cold water like an impact to his chest as he thrashed about, panicked. It was shallow, he realised, staring upward at the bright circle of sky above him, and he had not actually fallen very far. He still hurt though. He tried to right himself, to stand, but sobs clumped in his throat as pain exploded in his ankle and his right arm. 

It was very dark down here. Should he call out for help? But then they would know he had run away from home. He bit his already bloody lip. _Princes don’t cry, princes, don’t cry… Atar said I had to be strong when she left, said I had to be brave. And however dark it is where I am, it must be even darker where she is._

His ankle and his arm had begun to hurt a lot. He hissed in pain, curling up into a ball in the cold water. It was not so cold, not really. Maybe if he curled around himself, he could make his own warmth, his own fire, let it warm him…

He fell asleep after a while, cradling his arm to his body and thinking about the warm touch of his mother’s hand in the light of Laurelin, the brush of her soft silver hair against his fingers. 

_"There he is! I’ve found the little prince!"_

Fëanáro awoke to shouting, clamping hands over his ears before letting out a whimper as pain lanced through his arm. 

"He’s at the bottom of the well! Someone come and help me with him!"

He looked up. His circle of light was no longer a circle; there was someone lowering a ladder, climbing down… and then he was being lifted by strong arms, a stranger’s arms. He scowled as the pain started up again anew.  _Now he would never find her, now his father would never let him leave, never ever…_

He was brought before his father, his arm and leg bandaged, his whole body wrapped in blankets. Finwë rushed to his son, enfolding Fëanáro in his arms. “Oh Curufinwë, I was so  _worried_ …” his face was pale, and his voice hitching in his chest, Fëanáro noted with interest. Then his eyes grew stormy. “What were you _thinking_?”

"I didn’t find her!" Fëanáro burst out, choking back a sudden sob. "I failed, Atar. I was going to find Amil and bring her home and make everything right again but I fell into a well and I didn’t find her and…" his words were coming in a rush, tumbling over each other, choking him. 

Finwë’s face crumpled. “Oh Fëanáro. Oh, my son.” He opened his arms, inviting Fëanáro to come into them.

Fëanáro shuffled nervously over to him. “Are you angry?”

Finwë held him close to his chest. “Yes. But not at you. I’m angry at myself, for allowing you to think…” he sighed. “Fëanáro, I can’t keep… your mother is not going to come back, at least not unless…” he took a long breath. “No, she’s not coming back. You should not take risks going to look for her. It’s… this is what she wanted. You know that. Remember?”

He did remember, but he still could barely believe it. “How could she want that?” Fëanáro’s eyes were wide, horrified. “Does she not miss the light?” He had missed the light, and he was only down in a well.

"I… I don’t know, Fëanáro." Finwë’s voice was cracking. "I don’t know anything anymore. I just want… I just want you to be safe. Because you and I only have each other now, and I am so,  _so_  grateful that I have you. Do you understand?”

"Yes" said Fëanáro seriously, although he did not quite understand. "I am grateful that I have you too. Thank you, Atar, for taking me back." His eyes itched with burning tears once more. "Thank you thank you thank you."

Finwë kissed the crown of his head, holding him too tightly, so that his arm hurt. But he did not mind, not really. To be trapped in that dark forever, to never see his father again… the thought was horrifying. He hated how grateful he was to be home, for warmth; he should have found her, he should have  _saved_  her. He did not understand.  _How could the dark be what she wanted?_  

And now, with his face pressed against the warmth of his father’s arm so no one could see, Fëanáro finally let himself cry.


End file.
